Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FRANKIE
“Please take a deep breath.” On my phone screen, Paige closes her eyes and demonstrates how to inhale a long, slow lungful of air.
I carry her with me while I do frantic laps of the kitchen table. “I’ve tried. It just makes me feel faint.”
“Whether you come back to Chicago briefly or not at all, you’re no good to anyone if you pass out. But maybe your sexy handyman might find you and give you the kiss of life.”
“Oh, God, don’t.” It’s absolutely not okay that my lips tingle at the mere suggestion of it.
Paige gasps. “Fuck.” She leans into her camera, so close that I hold my phone farther away because it feels like she’s invading my personal space. “Have you already kissed him?”
“What? Stop it.” I look away and scratch the side of my neck.
“You have. Thank God,” Paige cries, loudly enough for me to hope her office door is closed, before launching into enthusiastic jazz hands. “Set off the Klaxons, bring out the dancing girls, and blow the moths out of your undies. Frankie Channing is getting some.”
“I am not getting some,” I say through my teeth, as if concerned that Thelma might hear and disapprove of me. Actually, come to think of it—I scan the room—where is she?
“Your skin’s glowing,” Paige says.
“That’s the fresh air.”
“You’re blushing.”
“The heat’s on too high.” It’s definitely not—partially because it conks out if you set it over seventy-one degrees. But, God, it does feel sweaty in here.
“Tell me.” She slaps her hands together in a series of short, sharp claps. “Tell me. Tell me.”
I let out a big sigh. “It was just a kiss.”
“Ah!” Now her hands are on her cheeks.
“Maybe twice.”
Paige twirls her arms over her head. “Once is an accident. Twice is a deliberate choice.” She falls silent for a second while dancing a seated jig. “Just first base, then?”
Oh Jesus. “Second.”
“Well, praise be to the nipple-tweaking gods.” She throws her head back to send her thanks to the heavens.
“Seriously, don’t get too excited,” I say. “It’s probably nothing. I barely know anything about this man. I’d like to, but he seems like the type who might be scared off by questions.”
“Tightly wrapped?”
“Maybe.”
“Hmm, how fascinatingly mysterious.” She drums her fingertips against her chin.
“Look, none of this is why I called you.” And I certainly don’t want to have to rationalize my completely irrational behavior. “Can we get back to the point?”
“If lover boy is the reason you don’t want to come back for the meeting, this is the point.”
“It’s not about whether I want to come back. I have to come back, or I’ll probably look like I’m not committed enough and my promotion chances will be fucked. And please don’t call him lover boy.” I shudder with mortification. “It’s just that it’s hard right now.”
“I bet it is.” She waggles her eyebrows.
I shake my head and blow out a sigh. “I mean because I’m in the middle of planning this big Thanksgiving drive. If I can get the funds and a bunch of volunteers in place to help Grandpa keep everything going, when I come back to Chicago for good I can do it with a clean conscience.”
“Well, a slightly dirty one.”
I roll my eyes at her grin. “You’re supposed to be my practical number-crunching friend.”
“I’m also the please-for-the-love-of-all-donkeys-get-Frankie-laid friend.”
She’s also the friend who consistently tries to get me to look at the other side of every coin, no matter how much I don’t want to see it. But there’s no time for that right now.
“I need to be in two places at once. Or else for there to be two of me. One here to look after everything, and another over there to keep my career prospects alive so Dickish Darren doesn’t become my fucking boss.”
“Well he’s clearly trying too hard already,” Paige says. “It took me five minutes to find my lunch yesterday because he’d organized the fridge to improve storage efficiency.”
“Oh, Jesus. I couldn’t live with him telling me what to do. I just couldn’t.” I sit down at the kitchen table. “So you think I should do what Julia asked and come back to do this meeting in person?” It was Julia, Crimson Finch’s chief marketing officer, who called me earlier.
“Will she be on the interview panel?”
“Of course.”
Paige grimaces and gives me a you-know-what-you-have-to-do shrug.
“Fuck,” I reply.
“Would the sanctuary fall apart without you for a couple of nights?”
I sigh and rest my elbows on the table. “I suppose Miller is pretty good at everything.”
“And how is he at taking care of the donkeys?” Paige sticks out her tongue.
“Stop it. That was all a mistake. I’ve got enough on my plate already with everything here, and now having to fly back to try to talk this big YouTuber into joining the Greenwich sofa campaign. I don’t need any man stress as well.”
“Is it stress, though?” she asks. “Or does it make you feel really fucking amazing?”
Well, the obvious answer is yes, of course it makes me feel really fucking amazing.
But I also don’t know what the point of it is.
There’s no saying that Miller will be sticking around here.
And even if he does, I’ll be going back to Chicago permanently as soon as Grandpa can handle everything again.
So there’s no way I’m getting involved with someone who’s clearly looking to escape their city for a more rural life.
Why would I open myself to the potential upset of that?
“Your smile just answered my question,” Paige says.
“I wasn’t smiling.”
She nods dramatically. “It was one of those gooey, mushy smiles.”
“I don’t have a gooey, mushy smile.”
“I didn’t think you did either, until two seconds ago.” She rests her chin on her hand and leans in, looking more serious. “You can’t go on letting Brandon’s lies stop you from enjoying any man ever again.”
That’s not a topic I have the time or desire to delve into right now.
“Look.” I slap my hand on the table to jolt myself out of whatever reverie I’d just unwittingly slipped into.
“I’ll tell Julia that I’ll be there for the meeting.
I could get a flight to come out tomorrow night.
The meeting’s the next morning, so I could maybe fly back the same day and only be gone for a little over twenty-four hours. ”
“Make the flight later so you can at least come for a quick drink with me after work,” Paige says. “Then you can fill me in on all the hot dude details in person. That’ll be even more fun.”
I frown at her.
“And because I miss you like crazy, of course,” she adds.
“Okay, I’ll see what the options are and let you know.”
“Good. You better go find that man and get to third base before I see you. I want all the details.”
I glare at her. “Bye, Paige.”
She blows me a kiss and hangs up.
Hearing all about what’s going on with Miller isn’t the only reason she wants to hang out. I’d bet she also thinks that if we’re face-to-face over a few drinks, she can talk me into taking the practical option of selling the sanctuary.
I drop my head onto the table and breathe a giant sigh. It’s at times like this I wish I had a sibling who could share some of the load.
There’s no point talking to my parents about it. They’d just tell me and Grandpa to do whatever we think is best. They’ve never been interested in the property. At least not with anything even remotely approaching the passion that Grandpa and I have for it.
Speaking of things Grandpa loves, where the hell is Thelma?
I look around the room again, no sign.
Behind the sofa. Nope.
Under the sofa. Nope.
On top of the kitchen cabinets? Nope.
I open the door to the bathroom in case she accidentally got shut in there. Nope.
She doesn’t usually go upstairs, but I scoot up there anyway in case she was nosing around with Miller’s family before they left.
Not in their bedroom, not in the bathroom, not in my bedroom.
It’s very rare that she wanders outside the house these days.
When she was younger she and Louise would play all around the sanctuary.
They weren’t afraid of the donkeys and in fact played a game with one of them—a gorgeous brown one named Harold—who would gleefully chase after them. It was the most adorable thing.
But since she got old and grouchy, Thelma pretty much only goes outside to go to the bathroom, then runs right back in.
Huh.
I shove my feet into my boots and grab my coat to go look for her.
When she’s nowhere within ten feet of the house, a cold panic rises in my chest—the kind you get in that fraction of a second when you think you’ve lost your purse or your phone.
Grandpa would be devastated if anything happened to her. He was distraught when Louise passed away. Since he and Grandma raised them from abandoned kittens, feeding them with bottles, I think maybe he sees the cat as one of the last links to her.
But there’s literally no sign of Thelma.
Hmm. I wonder if Miller has seen her.
And this is definitely not an excuse to talk to him. This is purely out of a need to secure the safety of my grandpa’s beloved pet.
I check both the donkey enclosures and stables, then the feed shed. No sign of him.
I’ll try the barn.
“Miller?” I call after I’ve slid the door open.
“Up here.” His voice comes from his sleeping loft.
I skip up the stairs. “Have you seen Thel—”
I’m stunned into silence by the sight before me.
Miller is sitting on an ancient chair, at the old table he’s set up under the window where he’s working on his computer.
And in his lap…
Thelma.
Curled up in a tight little ball.
I can hear her purring from here. “God, she really does like you.”
He holds his arms wide. “Nothing to do with me. She just appeared and hopped up. I tried to get her off, but she dug her claws into my pants. So I figured I’d let her be.”
“Wow.” She must have got in through the racoons’ hole. “She clearly thinks you’re a catch.”
I cast my gaze around the room. “You’ve done quite the cleanup job. Made this place a cozy little home.”
That’s an understatement.
The floor has been swept as clean as you could possibly get it without a vacuum and a mop.
The old cabinets that were lying around have all been arranged against the walls and look thoroughly wiped down and dust free.
There’s no sign of any of Miller’s belongings, so I imagine he must have scrubbed the insides too so he could put his stuff away.
The cot is on the back wall, at a right angle to the desk.
“I just moved everything around, really,” he says. “Oh, and I found this old chair in a corner of the shed when I was looking for tools and wood to replace the missing panel.”
“Are you comfy enough up here?” I move slowly toward him across the creaking floor. “I get the impression you’re not really one for camping.”
“Never camped in my life,” he says. “And never intend to.”
“I feel bad now for not having you stay in the guest room at the house.”
“It’s totally fine,” he says. “I wouldn’t have expected you to invite a stranger who’d just shown up on your doorstep to stay in your home with you. And definitely not when the guest room is only about two feet away from your own bedroom.”
At his reference to bedrooms he looks down and shifts in his seat, eliciting a grunt from Thelma.
“I mean, I’m doing most of my work at night,” he explains, “and I wouldn’t want to disturb you when I’m making calls and having meetings.”
I’m right next to him now.
“Nice view of the sky from here.” I duck down to peer out of the low window at the pinks and yellows of the sunset.
At the merest suggestion of my presence, Thelma wakes up, emits a snarky meow, jumps off Miller’s lap and scurries off toward the stairs.
The second she’s gone, Miller reaches for my waist and pulls me down to replace her.
And I let him.
His hands feel strong, caring, trustworthy.
“The finest view I can imagine is right here,” he says, running his thumb along my jawline.
And I let him.
His touch is delicate, thoughtful, and appreciative.
Then he kisses me.
And I let him.
And I dissolve into his lips.
Again.